


Ma Revas

by Laessu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:37:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laessu/pseuds/Laessu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Alternate Universe/Canon) - After returning home from studying under Magister Alexius, Dorian finds a new elven slave continually drawing his gaze. With his betrothal edging ever nearer and political unrest shaking Thedas' foundation, the Altus finds his that home is no longer as safe as he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ma Revas

“Home sweet home...” Dorian muttered under his breath, taking in the view of the striking manor that lay before him. It was just as he remembered, sharp and boastfully gaudy. He cringed as his muddied boots left prints on the polished marble steps. Dorian adjusted the canvas sack on his shoulder, its contents jangling noisily. As if on cue, the tall grand doors at the top of the staircase swung open. Two elven women bustled down the stairs to meet Dorian, while an older man remained at the threshold.

“Master Dorian, may I take your things?” The shorter of the two slaves gestured softly at the canvas sack.

“No Isthri, it’s alright.” Dorian flashed a quick, tired smile. “I am very sorry about the mess.” Isthri glanced behind him at the trail of muddy footprints. Without skipping a beat she shook her head rapidly.

“Not a problem Master Dorian, I’ll get to it right away.” Isthri turned on her heel and disappeared back into the manor. Finally at the top of the steps, Dorian faced the man standing silently in the doorway. The other slave bowed deeply to the man before scurrying inside after Isthri.

“Hello Father.” Dorian dipped his head and smiled up at the man. Halward Pavus, with the same dark hair and complexion as his son, stared back. Magister Pavus’ sharp eyebrows hung low over dark eyes, his mouth pulled tight into a straight line. He really did look quite intimidating, Dorian thought, grinning. The magister’s stone mask of stoicism cracked as he smiled warmly.

“Dorian. Welcome home” a rich Tevene accent coated each word, low and guttural. A gentle arm wrapped behind Dorian, guiding him into the marble manor. The two men walked only a few feet before stopping. “You had a peaceful travel I take it?” Magister Pavus looked his son up and down, clicking his tongue at the layers of dust and dirt coating the bottom of his boots. Dorian held a fist to his chest dramatically.

“Oh it was dreadful Father. There were Qunari at every turn, a mob of Liberati tried to steal my fineclothes, I was captured by a band of Rivaini pirates, I nearly drowned in—“ Dorian paused, looking down at his father’s wholly unamused expression before sighing. “Yes, I was fine. I did only come from Minrathous Father, stop fussing.” Magister Pavus ran another quick scan over his son before motioning him off with his hand.

“Have a bath drawn for yourself before you cover the entire manor in filth.” He said, still smiling lightly. Dorian was all too willing to comply, turning around quickly to race towards his room. It was further from the main entrance than he remembered, the twists and turns of the halls having turned foreign with time. It had been what, at least eleven years since he had last roamed his childhood home? When Dorian finally stood in front of his bedroom door, it was swung wide open to reveal its luxurious trappings. The room was brightly lit, velvet curtains drawn back to let the sun filter in from over the stone windowsill. The canvas sack coughed a cloud of dust as Dorian dropped it on the floor and flopped onto his bed. Looking up at the ceiling, he breathed through his nose, absorbing the familiar scent of home. The salty coastal air floated in from the open window, melding with the musty smell of wool and stone. Dorian felt like a child again, arms sprawled and eyelids heavy as he lay, carefree. Every blink felt heavier, the embroidered blanket below him beckoning him to sleep.

“Master Dorian?” Shooting up from his bed, Dorian whipped his head around to face the voice calling him. At the door stood a young man, now standing frightened at the mage’s sudden movement.

“Y-yes?” Dorian coughed awkwardly, not having meant to spring out of bed so violently. He looked up at the young man, quickly realizing that he was in fact an elf. The tips of his pointed ears were flushed pink as the elf stared back at Dorian, having seemingly forgotten what he had intended to say.

“I, uh... I’ve drawn a bath for you ser.” The elven boy seemed to regain his bearings. His voice was soft, carrying a melodic accent that Dorian had never heard before. On the elf’s face were delicate markings, curving gently up and across his cheekbones. Dorian had never seen anyone like him before.

“Who are you?” Dorian asked before he could help himself. The elf’s eyebrows twitched upwards, obviously taken aback.

“I am a slave ser.”

“I meant your name.” Again, words spilled from Dorian’s lips seemingly without permission. The boy’s eyes darted downwards quickly before he answered.

“...Lavellan.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“It is the name of the clan I am... or rather, was a part of.” The elf kept his gaze to the floor, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. Dorian knew that if he could press the conversation further if he so wanted, but he shut his mouth, struck with the sudden desire to have the elf like him. Dorian stood and walked over to the doorway, grinning charmingly.

“You said you drew a bath for me? Lead the way.” Lavellan’s shoulder relaxed slightly with relief. He turned and walked into the hallway, Dorian trailing lazily behind. 

 

* * *

 

“Father?” Magister Pavus looked up from his plate to stare at his son. “Did we recently get some new slaves?” Dorian kept the tone of his voice light, trying not to betray his pointed curiosity.

“You’ve been gone for a decade Dorian. Slaves come and go, you know this.”

“Ah... Yes of course.” Magister Pavus’ face hardened slightly.

“Why? Was one of them disrespecting you?” Dorian’s head jerked up quickly, panicked.

“No no! I was just curious.” His father’s face softened again, turning his attention back to his plate of food. Tracing a long finger across the divets in the oak table, Dorian paused before speaking again. “The slave who drew my bath, he had these marking across his face. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Ah yes that one.” Magister Pavus spoke distractedly, lifting a glass to his lips to take a sip of wine. “He’s Dalish I believe. Skilled, obedient. A good investment.” Dorian nodded, unwilling to press the matter. “Those markings on his face are some sort of custom,” he continued, setting down the glass gently and motioning to a slave to pour him more, “A magister I met once in Minrathous was very interested in those. Danarius was his name I believe. Wanted to try to create them himself with lyrium.” Magister Pavus looked over at his son, “Crazy man, only wanted to brand elven boys. Obsessed with all sorts of deviancy.” The offhand comment stabbed through Dorian like ice. Deviancy he called it. His hand balled into a fist underneath the table, heartbeat pounding in his ears. As if to drive his point home, his father opened his mouth to speak again. “I think I’ve found you a suitable wife Dorian. A girl from the Everens family. She comes from an excellent bloodline. Her mother produced five children, all mages.”

“I don’t quite think marriage is for me.” Dorian forced his tone to stay light, his clenched fist trembling beneath the table.

“It isn’t for you.” The shift in his father’s voice made Dorian look up. “It’s for our entire livelihood. Our legacy.” He paused. “It is your responsibility.” Dorian swallowed, his jaw clamped firmly shut. The inside of his mouth tasted like tar. Father always does this, he thought. Always. Dorian knew it had been too much to expect acceptance when he had finally revealed his preferences to his father. Pushing away from the table, Dorian stood and left the dining hall without another word. Bitter memories flashed through his mind. His father visiting during his apprenticeship with Alexius, his expression of pride as he watched his son flourish and excel in the magical arts. And his disappointment. The way the light had faded from behind his smile as Dorian finally told him what he had been afraid to hear for years. The sharp words spat at Dorian as his father told him to simply, “not be like that.” “Selfish.”  
The salty air enveloped Dorian’s senses as he returned to his room. He looked up, surprised, unable to remember how he had made it back. Mindlessly, he wandered over to his desk. It was as he had left it, covered in ink scribbles and doodles of fireballs and dragons. When he had last used it the desk had been far too large for him, he had sat upon piles of leather-bound texts to even reach the writing surface. Dorian swept his hand across the desktop, feeling each groove and bump in the wood. His heart rate had calmed, the pounding faded into a distant echo. A gentle knocking sound behind him made Dorian jump.

“Master Dorian?” Lavellan’s lilting voice floated in from the doorway, hesitant.

“You should consider becoming a spy.” Dorian let out a bark of mirth. Lavellan paused, unsure of how to respond. “You keep doing that... Silently sneaking up on me thing.”

“I believe at least part of that is due to your inattentiveness ser.” Dorian laughed in full at that. The corner of the elf’s mouth twitched as he stepped softly into the room. “I’ve brought supper.” Dorian looked down at the boy’s hands to see them gripped tightly around a tray laden with meats and a glass of pearly white wine.

“Father...” Dorian sighed, saying the word like a curse. Lavellan placed the tray on the desk, careful not to disturb any of the knick knacks resting on its surface. He stood to leave when Dorian gently caught his elbow.

“Ser?”

“Stay and chat with me. I could do with a little company.” Lavellan blinked at him a few times before nodding. Dorian flashed a smile at the elf before leaning across the desk to lift up the glass of wine. He held it up to the window, the red light of the sunset staining the glass crimson. “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

“It is.” Lavellan looked up at the glass, but his eyes were unfocused. He was looking beyond, into the sunset of lands far gone. Dorian looked down at him, mesmerized. His eyes traced the delicate markings on the elf’s face, down the sharp lines of his jaw, to the smooth curve of his exposed neck...  
Dorian thought the room was suddenly much too warm. He tore his eyes off of the elf and brought the glass to his lips. The wine was sweet, far too sweet.

“It’d take me barrels of this stuff to get me even the slightest drunk...” Dorian mused out loud. “You’re lucky you haven’t seen me drunk yet.” Lavellan raised his eyebrows slightly.

“And why is that?” The melodic tone sent a shiver down Dorian’s spine, but he managed to regain composure quickly.

“Because you and Isthri would have to spend all night making sure I don’t tumble down every flight of stairs in this damn mansion.” Lavellan let out a short snort before bursting into a quick bout of laughter. His bright teeth exposed as soft lips were pulled upward. Graceful sloped shoulder shivering slightly. It was over much too quickly, Dorian thought, as Lavellan covered his mouth to halt the sound.

“You’re not like the other magisters.”

“Ah hah, well that would be because I am, in fact, not a magister.” Lavellan looked up at Dorian, fear flashing across his face.

“I didn’t mean to offen—“

“None taken.” Dorian reassured, taking another swig of the sugary wine. Perhaps the wine did have a little alcohol in it, Dorian thought, feeling rather bold. “So Lavellan... How did you end up working here?” As the question left his lips Dorian felt the room freeze. The elf’s face darkened, no trace of the former smile left on his soft features.

“I was kidnapped.” Lavellan began, turning to stare Dorian eye-to-eye, “Traveling from my clan to deliver a message to a neighboring clan. They saw the marks on my face and the shape of my ears and thought me a perfect candidate for slavery.” He rubbed the tip of his ear between his forefinger and thumb. “They ambushed me, threw me into a cart with dozens of other captured elves. I was shackled, stripped, priced, and taken to Qarinus.” Dorian pursed his lips awkwardly; unsure what to say. Lavellan continued to hold eye contact, his gaze intensifying. “I stood on a wooden block as dozens of rich men stared at me and placed prices on my life. One of them happened to be willing to pay the most. That, Master Dorian, is how I ended up here.” Without another word he turned swiftly and left the room, leaving Dorian standing silently, hand still grasping the glass of wine.


End file.
